


The Priestess

by tartanroyaltea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Drama, Erotica, F/M, King - Freeform, Mildly Dubious Consent, Romance, Smut, priestess - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 22:11:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2749013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartanroyaltea/pseuds/tartanroyaltea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A virgin priestess is given as a 'sacrifice' to Odin as part of a centuries long Asgardian tradition.<br/>Set post 'Thor;The Dark World'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> On a small side note, the OFC's name is pronounced [‘jænθə] YAN-tha.

Every fifty years the Sacred Order of Aurvandil would sacrifice a young, pure priestess to each of the male Aesir in Asgard. It was an ancient tradition, one which had endured through the reigns of countless Kings of Asgard from time immemorial, right up to the present Odin Allfather. Many of the sisters of the Order had been certain that the tradition would be cancelled, or at the very least postponed until the next favourable star cycle, in light of the deaths of the beloved Queen Frigga, and the marginally less beloved, Prince Loki.

Yet, no messengers had come from the palace to stop the ritual. It would occur in the prosperous fiftieth year, just as it always had. The Temple was alight with activity in the days leading up to the ritual, every Sister no matter how low or high, was engaged in preparing for this momentous occasion. Excitement bubbled among the Sisters, tinged with the sharpness of quiet fear in the young virgins who were to be ‘sacrificed’. The virgin priestesses did not need to fear death, murdering one of the Aurvandilan sisters had been outlawed by Odin at the start of his reign, millennia ago. Before Odin’s kindness, many of the virgin sacrifices returned to the Order at dawn- in shrouds. Apart from killing their sacrifices, there were no rules to restrict what the Aesir could do with their sacrifices during the twelve hours between dusk and dawn; the possibilities were enough to make any girl tremble.

 

Iantha was definitely trembling; in fact, she succeeded in spilling three dishes of holy oil before Mother Delena had angrily dismissed her and sent her off to sweep in the shrines. This was Iantha’s first experience of the Sacrifice, and it would be her last, whether she was chosen or not. As an  _Óhreinn_ , an Asgardian with Midgardian blood, she would likely live to two hundred years, at most. At just over fifty years old, Iantha was in the prime of her youthful beauty, but when the next sacrifice happened, she would be an old lady and no Aesir would want her.

Iantha tried to push the Sacrifice from her mind as she swept, twirling the fine branches through the fine dirt and creating different patterns, arches and circles and waves. The second shrine she entered was empty, and Iantha sighed, revelling in the rare feeling of being entirely alone. The shrine was small and dark, as they all were, the walls and floor made from black, roughhewn stone. The only source of light came from the long, thin candles that floated, unaided, many feet above Iantha’s head. Iantha glanced at the knave of the shrine and the painting of the God that hung there. Black hair against white skin- it could only be Prince Loki.

Iantha suddenly found her that her feet had carried her, unbidden, to stand right in front of the painting. Prince Loki had been handsome, she thought, especially in his youth, which was when this portrait had been done. Before the madness ravished his features…or so the gossips said, Iantha had, naturally, not been present when he had been dragged back from Midgard in chains. It was all anyone had discussed for many moons, how a man so privileged, a Prince of Asgard, no less, could fall so far. And then he had died, defending his brother against the Dark Elves, like a hero.

 Iantha stared at the late Prince’s face; his high forehead, sharp cheekbones, long nose, and thin lips gave him a cold, regal air, like he was made of marble, or ice. His eyes though, were fire. Even in the painting, they glowed like emeralds. Iantha imagined she could see a flurry of emotions behind them, rage and torment and whatever it was that had driven him to subjugate Midgard.

“Greetings, Sister.” Iantha leapt like a scalded cat, belatedly bowing her head in acknowledgement of her fellow sister. Iantha returned to dutifully sweeping the floor, trying and failing to avoid meeting the gaze of those knowing emerald eyes.

***

The day of the ritual arrived far too quickly, as far as Iantha was concerned. Naturally, she made not a single noise of complaint as Mother Delena led all of the sisters in a ludicrously long prayer before the sun rose. Then it was time for the ‘offerings’ to take their places; Iantha kneeled at the Grand Altar beside her sisters, all of them forming a fan-like shape around the  _kelda_  of  _aldrnari_. Mother Delena passed a goblet around, and each of the girls took a small sip, the liquid was somehow hot and cold at the same time. When the goblet returned to Mother Delena, she upended it over the  _kelda_ , a few drops tip-tapped into the dish and immediately, flames white as snow rose from the  _kelda_ , dancing and swirling before the astonished sisters.

And so it began. Each girl in turn approached the  _kelda_  of  _aldrnari_ , some confidently, others fearfully, but all allowed Mother Delena to place their right hands, palm down, into the strange flames without flinching.

“Congratulations, Sister Kiercé, you have been chosen to be sacrificied to Týr, Sacred God of Law and Heroic Justice.”

“Commiserations, Sister Altheria, you have not be chosen this time.”

“Commiserations…”

“Congratulations…”

It went on  and on until Iantha found herself standing beside the  _kelda_ , up close it was just a plainly carved pedestal, waist height, with a silver dish perched on top. But the white flames of  _aldrnari_  were even more wonderful and terrible than before. Mother Delena’s clammy hand seized hers and thrust it into the fire. Iantha had expected pain, a burning sensation but there was nothing, no feeling at all.

“Comm-” Just as Mother Delena was about to announce her fate, Iantha felt a surge of energy engulf her hand, from the tips of her fingers it spread to her arm, her spine, her toes.  _Magic._  Only the highest in the Order could perform magic, and even then, it was that of a mage, usually with the help of herbs and special potions. As an  _Óhreinn_ , Iantha would never be permitted to learn even basic magic, no matter how high she climbed in the Order during her brief life. But  _this_ , this was real magic, the magic of the Gods. For a few seconds, Iantha felt utterly drunk with power.

“Congratulations, Sister Iantha, it seems you have been chosen to be sacrificed to…Odin Allfather.” Mother Delena stuttered slightly, as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was saying. She glared at the insolent little  _Óhreinn_ before her, wondering how it was that a filthy little halfling could have been selected for the greatest and highest of the Aesir. Alas, she could do nothing: the  _aldrnari_ ’s decision was absolute.

Iantha stepped down from the dais in a daze, too busy staring at her hand and reliving the feeling of the magic to notice the astonished glances being cast her way.

****

“Emeralds would be nice against her hair…” mused Sister Kali, or was it Kaliah? Iantha was too anxious to remember, even though the woman had introduced herself only moments ago.

“No, you dolt! Green was Prince Loki’s colour!” argued Sister Jaharis.

“What of it? He did not have a monopoly on  _green_!” came the rebuttal. Iantha rolled her eyes- being dressed up like a lamb for slaughter seemed ridiculous, but here she was, surrounded by jewels while Sister Jaharis brushed and teased and yanked at her hair.

“Because, it will remind the AllFather of his deceased son!”

“Well, she can’t wear the sapphires then, because blue was Frigga’s colour, if we’re going to be ridiculous and assign colours to the Gods!”

“Fine. The emeralds, then,” snapped Sister Jaharis, wrenching Iantha’s hair at her defeat.

Several hours later (though it felt like days), Iantha was led to a long mirror, to inspect her fellow sister’s handiwork. She couldn’t help but gasp, after all, she had not seen her reflection in years, mirrors were a rare luxury in Asgard, even for the Order. She was wearing the same translucent white, floor-length gown as all of the other sacrifices, but her hair had been curled and piled up on her top of her head, interspersed with tiny braids and emeralds the size of peas. Larger green gems flickered at her wrists, fingers and slender throat. Sister Jaharis grinned, happy with her work, and gently tugged free a few wispy copper curls, making them fall in an artfully dishevelled manner.

“Well, hopefully the AllFather can still appreciate a thing of beauty,” she said, patting Iantha on the arm. ‘ _What in Hel does that mean?’_ Iantha wondered fearfully. In truth, she had no idea what to expect would happen this night, but at least, she reasoned, that way there would be no disappointments… or surprises.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A virgin priestess is given as a sacrifice to Odin in a centuries old Asgardian tradition.  
> Set post 'Thor: The Dark World'.

“The AllFather will arrive momentarily, my lady,” said the handsome young guard, bowing to Iantha before withdrawing. ‘ _Don’t go, don’t leave me here’_ , she thought, miserably. She stood rooted to the spot in the centre of the chamber, the AllFather’s personal chamber, feeling ridiculously out of place. The room was not decorated as she would have expected, the floors were of a dark wood so shiny she felt like she was standing on a black lake. Heavy, velvet curtains shut out the dwindling light of the day, bathing the room in eerie candlelight, and Iantha had the strange sensation that shadows and shades were lurking in the corners of the chamber. An enormous fireplace, the size of Iantha’s shared room in the Temple, dominated one of the walls, but it was empty, no firelight danced beside the strange faces and beasts carved into the black marble. There was no bed in sight, thankfully. The whole room was…dark and depressing. ‘ _Well, the King_ is  _in mourning, after all’._ Iantha glanced at the long dining table and inviting chairs, but did not dare to rest before the King’s entrance. The emeralds sat heavily on her chest.

The doors suddenly swung open, light slicing across the floor. Iantha spun around and dropped to her knees, heart hammering. She had never seen the AllFather up close, only from hundreds of feet away at a ceremony in the palace many years ago, but she resisted temptation and kept her eyes  dutifully fixed on the floor. The AllFather gave his parting words to the guards as they saluted and shut the doors behind them, sealing out the twilight once more.

Iantha still did not look up. Nor did she look up when she heard the AllFather walking slowly towards her. He hadn’t spoken a word, and the silence was making her even more nervous, if that was possible.  A pair of boots appeared in Iantha’s line of vision, and she couldn’t help but notice the slither of gold appearing to rise from the dark floor in her peripheral vision. ‘ _Gungnir_ ’. The most powerful weapon in the Nine Realms- and she was a handbreadth from it.

 

“Look up.” The voice was deep and gruff with old age, but it was a voice that embodied authority in every tone and nuance. Iantha drew a breath for courage and slowly raised her face to the King. Her eyes followed the leather of his boots, to his breaches, to the ceremonial armour, the white beard and, finally his small, dark eyes. But she could only look into them for a fraction of a second before her nerve escaped her, making eye contact with the AllFather was surely inappropriate, and certainly far too intimidating to sustain. Iantha settled her eyes on his creased brow, instead, but she was still able to see the AllFather appraising her. ‘ _I hope I do not look as ridiculous as I feel, dressed in all of these jewels’_.

“You do not.”

Iantha jumped slightly, accidentally made eye contact again and felt her face burst in to flame. She had not known that the AllFather could read minds; it was not a pleasant thought. The AllFather looked somewhat peculiar, as if he too was surprised by his outburst. He tilted his head slightly, looking intently at the young woman at his feet, considering for several moments before he spoke again.

“Can you keep a secret, Iantha of Aurvandil?” His previously sombre voice was laced with amusement and…mischief?

Before Iantha could respond to such a peculiar question, the AllFather was bathed in a bright green light. Iantha watched in horror as it seemed to eat away his flesh, turning it smooth and white as snow, his white hair grew black from the roots, his features became sharp and angular, his armour shifted and tinged with green and gold. ‘ _Loki’_. The green light finished at the King’s feet and the tips of his long, pale fingers, disintegrating into the air. What magic was this? What trick? Iantha briefly wondered if she had been drugged, if this was a hallucination.

“Oh no, pet. This is all real, I assure you. As am I,” said the Allfather… or Loki, Iantha was still unsure. Fear slid like a cold knife down her spine, this was surely no trick of her imagination. Her eyes flickered to the doors.

“You can scream all you like, they won’t hear you.” Loki (for she was sure that it truly was him, now) smiled down at her, but it was not a kind smile, nor a reassuring one, it was wolf-like.

“How? You…you are dead,” she whispered, instantly berating herself for saying something so stupid. Evidently, he was not dead. The feral smile simply widened.

“Yes, that is what everyone believes. But, as you can see, my pet, I am very much alive,” Loki said, spreading his arms out wide, as if to emphasise his vigour. He sounded very pleased with himself. Iantha was still attempting to wrap her poor mortal brain around what had just unfolded before her. Loki did not wait for any more foolish questions.

“I did  _almost_  die in Svartalfheim, and the opportunity was simply too good for me not to take advantage of it. My idiot brother wept and I returned here, to claim my birth right. It was so thoughtful of him to give it all up for that mortal  _quim_ ,” Loki boasted, his gravelly voice turning poisonous at the end. Iantha had been frightened before, but she was petrified now. Loki had likely killed the real Odin AllFather months ago, using his magic to hide the secret from Asgard day and night. So why was he telling her, of all people? ‘ _Because he is going to kill you, too, and the dead cannot spill secrets’_ , answered a voice in her mind. She knew that it was right. Iantha would not have thought the old Prince Loki, the one who had sat, hundreds of years ago, for the painting that hung in the shrine, to be capable of murdering an innocent girl, but this man was a different person all together. His pitch black hair was far longer, well past his shoulders and wavy, his face leaner, sharper, crueller. Only the emerald eyes were the same, except Iantha could now see all of the emotions moving there, rather than imagining them. She felt certain madness was lurking there, not far from the surface.

“If that were the case, I would have destroyed you already, my pet, for those insolent thoughts,” said Loki quietly, his voice shimmering with threats and promises of pain. Iantha shivered.

“You are cold, of course. I do not feel it, myself. One of the few advantages to being a Jotunn,” Loki mused. Iantha gasped in shock as the fireplace roared to life with a flick of Loki’s hand, a wall of green flames waving and blurring before her eyes. She felt rather faint. ‘ _Odin is Loki…who is a Frost Giant’_. Iantha didn’t like surprises at the best of times, but so many in quick succession were causing her to lose her grip on reality. She flinched as Loki reached a hand out, placing it on her head as if in blessing. Iantha felt a hum of energy, of  _magic_ , begin in her scalp and spread throughout her body, warming and soothing, ridding her of the fear and confusion that had been eating away at her mind. She unconsciously revelled once again in the brief, intoxicating feeling of power that the magic provided.

“It was  _you_ ,” she breathed, unable to hide her wonder. She dared to look up at Loki, who had removed his hand from her head, only to stroke his long fingers down her temple and blushing cheek. Loki raised his eyebrows at her, and she thought she may have spoken disrespectfully. But she was not worried; she was literally incapable of it. “My Lord, I have felt that magic before… I think,” she said, attempting a more polite method.

“Have you, now?” questioned Loki, but his eyes danced with mischief and she knew that she was correct. Iantha thought that Loki looked pleased at her recognition of his…presence.

“I am pleased indeed, my little pet. I had surmised that you would be the perfect  _sacrifice_ for me, and I see that I was right,” Loki murmured, twining a loose copper tendril around his finger and pulling, ever so gently. His hand slid slowly around the back of her head, like a caress, knotting his fingers through her hair and gripping her skull. Iantha yelped when Loki suddenly tugged on a fistful of hair, pulling her head back so that she was staring at the frescoed ceiling, her neck stretched and exposed. She squirmed in his grasp, willing him to let go, but knowing better than to request or command it. Loki hummed contentedly and gradually released her hair, stroking almost tenderly as he withdrew his hand. Quick as lightning, he grabbed her chin and held it fast, forcing her to look into his eyes. Green flames danced wildly.

“I am going to take you, my pet, and I will break you,” Loki said, enunciating every syllable perfectly; his deep voice was soft and dangerous, like a mixture of velvet, and poison. “You belong to me until the sun rises. You will become mine, this night.”

Fear surged through Iantha’s body for a split second- overpowering, undeniable terror. She nodded her head. “Yes, my Lord,” she said obediently, her voice wavering.

“Say it,” Loki commanded, pressing harder on her jawbone.

“I…belong to you, until the sunrises. I am yours, my Lord,” she responded quickly, hoping that he would not see fit to break her bones. Loki released her chin, smiling in satisfaction. The fear drained from her instantly.

“Very good, pet. You learn quickly. Although, I think I would prefer that you call me your King, for that is what I am to you, is it not so?” Loki passed Gungnir rapidly between his hands, inches from her face; she was reminded of the sheer power of that ancient weapon- of the power available to Loki.

“Yes, my King.”

Abruptly, Loki strode past Iantha without a word. She felt uneasy not being able to see him. Her knees ached from resting on the hard floor for so long.

“Come,” Loki commanded, his voice echoing strangely in the sparsely furnished space. Iantha rose, slightly unsteady, and walked towards where Loki stood, just a few feet from the blank back wall of the chamber. There were no doors, or windows. As Iantha approached, Loki extended his free hand to her, his body half-turned between her and the wall. Iantha hesitantly reached out, and when their fingers touched, Loki wove their hands together tightly. His hands were very large and pleasantly cool; they were far softer than she had anticipated. Loki did not look at her. He tapped the sharp tip of  _Gungnir_ against a wooden panel, the same green light Iantha had seen before spilled out, engulfing and eroding a section of wall big enough for a man of Loki’s considerable stature to walk through. And that was exactly what he did, pulling Iantha behind him.

They entered a much smaller chamber of a similarly dark décor, but with flecks of emerald green throughout; wall hangings, rugs, curtains, bed sheets…Iantha noticed a small brown moth drowning in a pool of wax, beneath the pointed flame of a candle. Loki placed  _Gungnir_ in a corner, near the moth. The golden staff fused with the floor, supporting itself in the absence of a handler.

Loki took Iantha’s hand again, leading her to the foot of the imposing four-poster bed. The velvet hangings brushed against the hairs on the back of her hand as she walked past. She did not like the fact that Loki had not spoken in so many minutes. Loki released her hand and turned to face her. He appeared somehow taller when she was standing upright, he completely towered over her; she fixed her eyes on the curve of gold on his chest plate, it reminded her of the many crescent moons she had seen hanging in the overlapping night skies.

“Unlace yourself,” Loki instructed, his voice deeper than before. Iantha’s fingers fumbled at the lacing on the front of her gown instantly, she looked down at the complex bow and cursed the sisters who had dressed her and knotted it so tightly. Loki made a small noise of discontent, and wrapped a hand around her throat. She blinked, bewildered, and stilled her movements immediately.

“You must look at me. You must always look at me,” he said, tracing the pad of his thumb against her jugular, feeling the gentle thud of her pulse beneath the fine skin.

“Yes…my King,” Iantha breathed, forcing herself to look into his piercing eyes. His long dark lashes flickered infinitesimally; he brushed against the emeralds as his hand retreated from her neck.

Iantha wrenched quickly at the intricate lacing. She tried not to blink too hard, or too often, but Loki’s eyes were glinting darkly in the muted candlelight, and she wanted so desperately to look away, to look anywhere else. She untied the last bit of lacing, just beneath her navel, and her exposed skin alighted with goose bumps. Loki waited a beat, before pushing the flimsy fabric off her slim shoulders with both hands. The dress floated down her body, settling silently at her feet.

Loki’s eyes slowly traced down the length of her body; Iantha’s gaze did not waver from his face, so she saw the grin bloom on his face when he reached her breasts. She couldn’t fathom why he looked so pleased, they were unremarkable, neither large nor small. Loki looked back up at her, unexpectedly; his pupils were larger, the green irises giving way to black.

“Oh, I disagree, pet. They  _are_  remarkable, as are you…” he said, quietly.

Loki traced her collarbones with the back of his hand, his touch softer than a butterfly’s wing. He cupped both of her breasts, weighing the pillowy flesh before he began to knead gently, never breaking eye contact. Iantha inhaled sharply when he brushed his thumbs over her already taut nipples. She had always had very sensitive breasts, but she had never in her life been touched like this before.

“You enjoy this, pet,” said Loki. It was not a question, merely a statement of fact. Iantha nodded in agreement; it was the truth, all she felt was pleasure. There was no sense in lying to the God of Lies.

“Clever girl,” Loki murmured, pinching both of her nipples simultaneously. Iantha made a peculiar whimpering noise, one she had not known she was capable of. She felt liquid heat pool at the apex of her thighs. Loki smiled that now-familiar feral grin. His left hand traced patterns over her soft belly, down, down… towards the exact spot she realised she wanted,  _needed_ , to be touched.

Loki suddenly removed his hands from her flushed skin and stepped back. Iantha felt frustrated…and disappointed. The corners of Loki’s eyes creased in something akin to a genuine smile.

“Patience, pet,” he admonished, “You must undress me, now.”

Iantha darted glances over his magnificent clothing; it was complex, comprised of a tunic of overlapped leather and green fabric, ornate vambraces, a sleeveless leather and metal overcoat, and the chest plate she had admired earlier. Even his breeches looked complicated, criss-crossed leather at his knees mirrored that of above, and his long boots were dotted with strange fastenings. ‘ _Where to begin?’_

“Start at my wrists,” Loki ordered, in response to her confusion. She stepped forward, kicking her dress aside. Her groping fingers found the small buckles on the undersides of the vambraces. She belatedly remembered Loki’s earlier command, and looked up at his face, craning her neck back at the close proximity. Her fingers stumbled blindly over the remaining buckles and she huffed in frustration. Loki laughed softly, after she had struggled fruitlessly for several minutes, growing more and more irate.

“You may look at what you are doing, else I fear I will remain clothed all night.” Instantly, Iantha flinched at the admonishment, fearful that he would punish her for obeying orders. But Loki’s expression seemed…less threatening than before, more open. She realised that he had been joking, her full lips spread into a smile, albeit a slightly hesitant one. An unknown emotion flickered across Loki’s face, quick as lightning, and she blushed, looking down at the piece of armour in her hands. Each of the golden shells clanged dully as they hit the floor.

Iantha pursed her lips thoughtfully, deciding where to aim for next. She checked that the overcoat was not attached to anything else, seeing that it wasn’t, she attempted to push it off Loki’s shoulders, but she had to stretch up to do it, effectively embracing him. The leather and metal were bitingly cold against her skin, a mixture of smoothness and hard edges. Loki did nothing to assist, staying as still as a statue, the only sign of life were the small, cool gusts of air ruffling the tiny hairs at her scalp. She sighed irritably and retreated; looking back up to Loki, she saw the familiar mischief shining on his face.

“My King, may I…move behind you for a moment?” she asked. Loki nodded in acquiescence. Iantha wondered why Loki simply hadn’t undressed himself, or used magic; either would have been far quicker than this charade.

“But far less enjoyable,” he answered. Iantha could only see the back of his head, but she could practically hear the smirk in his voice. Loki laughed again; it was a deep, richly musical sound. Iantha suppressed a shiver and stood on the tips of her toes, reaching around, she pulled the garment back and down over Loki’s broad shoulders and long arms. The embellished leather was heavy and incredibly smooth, luxuriant; Iantha draped it carefully over a nearby table. She returned to her place before Loki, unweaving the bindings on his forearms until the sleeves of his tunic were freed. She glared at the chest piece, unsure of how it was attached to the surrounding leather. Loki silently reached for her hands, positioning them where Iantha could feel hidden fastenings.

When the chest plate was gone, the fastenings of the leather tunic appeared, but they were difficult to unlatch, as the garment was so fitted to his lean torso. Iantha had begun to lose hope of ever reaching the last of Loki’s many layers, but there was the emerald undershirt, and as she lifted it carefully over his head, there was his skin- a vast expanse of unblemished, white skin. Had it not been for the light smattering of hair on his chest and forearms, Iantha could have mistaken him for a being carved from marble, so smooth were the planes of his body. His muscles were not bulky, but long, lean, and well defined. His hands and forearms were patterned with thick veins; his collarbones looked sharp enough to cut glass.

Loki cleared his throat. Iantha flushed with embarrassment, surprised at herself for behaving so…but then, she had never even seen an ordinary Asgardian man unclothed, let alone a God. She sensed Loki’s smug amusement. ‘ _Next…’_  She knelt down, unfastening his fine leather boots and slipping them off each of his enormous feet in turn. She stood up, reluctantly, and stubbornly fixed her gaze on that little patch of chest hair as her hands hooked into the top of his breeches and began deftly undoing the lacings. She was a virgin, yes, in every sense of the word, but she was not wholly ignorant- she knew that this was the crux of it all.

Iantha pushed the breeches off Loki’s narrow hips in one movement, and then she froze. She began chewing on her bottom lip, feeling lost as to what happened now. Loki stepped out of the final piece of clothing, an age after his initial request had been issued. Anticipation and lust hummed in his veins, dancing and singing together.

“Well done, pet. Now, the fun begins,” Loki growled. Iantha looked up at him sceptically, but the intensity of his stare silenced her doubts. The depth of desire and sheer  _want_  in his inky eyes created that warm, wet feeling in her sex once again. She didn’t feel afraid, she felt  _excited._

“Touch me,” he commanded, his voice barely above a whisper. Iantha raised both hands and placed them on his shoulders, caressing her palms down over the bare skin of his chest, feeling his muscles twitch slightly under her ministrations. She passed his navel, outlining the sharp marks of his hips with the tips of her fingers, daring to lightly drag her short nails into his flesh and bones. The action elicited a hiss from Loki, but she did not repeat it, instead quelling her nerves and brushing against the head of his erect manhood. She had not laid eyes on it yet, so she relied on her sense of touch to paint a picture in her mind.

Loki’s eyelids dropped slightly and she gripped him in her hand, appearing taken aback at the girth of it. His cock felt hard as a metal bar, but soft like it was wrapped in velvet. She tightened her grip and moved her hand farther down, feeling the blood rushing hotly through a particularly large, thrumming vein on the underside. When she moved her hand back up to the top, Loki moaned audibly. Taking this to be a positive sign, Iantha repeated the motion, moving up and down rhythmically, beginning to revel in the undeniable feeling of power accumulating within her as she pleasured her God.

Without warning, Loki grabbed her upper arms and all but pushed her away from him. Iantha stared mutely, unsure of what she had done wrong. Loki’s chest heaved, and in the dim light she could see that his skin appeared to have flushed a pale pink in some areas. Iantha’s eyes drifted, unbidden and curious, down to where her hand had been a split second before; it was large,  _too_  large, she thought, purplish and damp and swollen…yet, she wasn’t repulsed by it as she would have expected. Not even a little bit. Loki’s hands were clenched in fists by his sides, veins protruding angrily there, too.

“Lie on the bed,” he growled, his voice sounding slightly hoarse. Iantha nodded distractedly and walked around to the side of the bed, noting with faint amusement that her legs felt very unsteady, as if the bones had been removed. She sat on the cool satin sheets, lifted her legs and lay prone in the centre of the bed, staring up at the canopy. A few drawn-out seconds later, she felt the bed depress on her left side. Loki’s face hovered into her line of vision, eventually blocking out her view of the canopy as he spread his body out above hers, leaving little more than a hand’s breadth between them. He braced a forearm on either side of her head, giving Iantha the distinct sensation of being utterly trapped. His bony knees nudged her legs apart, creating a space for himself between them; his cock pressed against her thigh and Iantha’s hips bucked of their own volition. Loki smirked down at her, lips curling and eyes narrowed; he was ready to devour her.

Iantha gasped wantonly when Loki pressed a finger into her folds, parting them and stroking the wetness…up, down, up, down, just as she had done to him. It was pleasurable, but frustrating as well, she wanted him to do something… _more_ , but she wasn’t sure what exactly. She flinched and tried to move away as his fingertip found a point at the top of her sex that created an almost unbearably intense sensation. His left hand wound into her hair, holding her in place, while his right hand teased at that sensitive nub until she was writhing underneath him and twisting the satin sheets in her hands, her eyes rolling in the back of her head and her skin shining with a light sheen of sweat.

“Do you want your release, pet?” Loki taunted, blowing cool air onto the shell of her ear. He chuckled darkly when she whined incoherently, and began nipping playfully along her jaw. “You will have to beg for it,” he added, moving a finger down towards her entrance and pushing in just a fraction, providing enough tension to make her cry out again. Iantha’s eyes screwed shut as her nerves fizzed with the unfamiliar sensations coursing through her; Loki tsked and grabbed her chin impatiently. “You  _must_  look at me, pet. Do not take your eyes off mine,” he said firmly, watching her lids flicker open and admiring the small sliver of silver than remained visible on the edges of her dilated pupils. He fisted his free hand back into her silken locks, but ceased his movements on her sex. He laughed as she actually pouted at him for stopping, and unable to resist, he leant down and bit her protruding, plush bottom lip. Loki could smell that her lips had been anointed with something sweet, he snaked his tongue forwards, tasting the hot flesh. He was suddenly overcome with the urge to press his lips against hers, and so he did, capturing her full lips, pushing his thin ones against them. He coaxed her mouth open and stroked her tongue into submission; he felt intoxicated, the taste and touch of her combined clouded his brain even more than her hand on his cock had done earlier.

Loki pulled back, reluctantly. Iantha’s cheeks were flushed red as roses, as were her lips, now even fuller after his kiss. Iantha had never been kissed before, and was surprised at just how much she had enjoyed it. Loki couldn’t fathom why he had felt the urge to kiss her; he never usually kissed the women he bedded.

“My King, please… _please_ …” she whispered brokenly, still gasping for breath. Loki grinned at her eagerness, her lack of inhibition.

“Please…what?” he teased, peppering light kisses across her flushed throat. The saltiness of her damp skin contrasted deliciously with the sweetness of her lips. Iantha squirmed beneath him.

“Please…touch me, my King,” she begged. Loki returned his finger to her sex and stroked in the same slow movements as before.

“Please, my King… _more_ ,” she said desperately, unable to put her desires into words. After all, she wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted him to do, but she did know what she wanted to feel- that wonderful, humming, burning sensation that had been building before Loki paused.

“Like this?” Loki whispered, his eyes twinkling as he pressed and rubbed firmly against her swollen clit. Iantha gasped a breathless ‘yes’, her hips beginning to undulate in time with his hand. Loki replaced his index finger with his thumb, maintaining the pressure on her bundle of nerves, while his finger descended to her entrance again. No teasing this time- he slid his finger in slowly, ignoring the increasing volume of Iantha’s cries, continuing until it was sunk in to the knuckle. Iantha exhaled shakily; although his thumb was still pleasuring her, the penetration had been a new and not entirely pleasant feeling. Her inner walls defensively gripped his finger, holding it fast.

“Relax, pet,” Loki said soothingly. He pressed his thumb more firmly against her, and withdrew his finger when her warm, wet walls loosened sufficiently.

Iantha moaned loudly and flung her head back when he plunged his finger back inside, more forcefully this time. Pleasure began to overtake discomfort. Loki added a second long finger and increased the tempo, his thumb rubbing fast circles into her sensitive nub. Iantha’s hips bucked wildly, seemingly of their own accord. She could hear the blood hammering around her veins, something red hot coiling in her lower stomach and readying to strike, like a serpent.

“Come, my little pet. Release… _now_ ,” Loki commanded, biting sharply along the side of her neck, his hand still working furiously. Iantha’s entire body tensed, and suddenly every nerve ending, every sinew, every vein ignited as the snake struck… but it was pleasure, not poison, that made her scream, that blinded her, sending stars careening across the darkness before her eyes.

Iantha’s vision slowly, reluctantly refocused, the sharp white planes of Loki’s face came back into view, his cheekbones raised with a satisfied grin. Iantha felt shaken, she could barely breath. Her eyes glanced down and noticed that the heavy emerald necklace was gone; she wiggled her fingers, the rings were gone too.

“You need no decoration,” Loki explained, stroking the damp hair back from her equally damp forehead. Her chest heaved, her heart attempted to rebalance its beating after the onslaught. Loki raised two glistening fingers to his mouth and sucked, hollowing his cheeks. Iantha’s mushed brain sluggishly registered that the dampness was  _her_ ; her eyes widened in shock, but that persistent heat reappeared at the apex of her thighs as she watched his tongue wrap around his fingertips before he slid his fingers out with a slight ‘pop’. He hummed contentedly, smirking devilishly at her flustered expression.

“You taste divine, pet. I will have to sample you properly…later,” he said, reaching a hand down to part her legs further, pulling one up by the knee to rest at his hip. She gasped as the hot, smooth head of his cock brushed against her sex, but it was only briefly, before Loki began easing into her. Iantha reached up and gripped his ribs, holding her breath as he pushed inside her. His fingers had been uncomfortable at first, but this was nearer to pain, not a sharp pain, but a dull, strong one nonetheless.

Iantha dug her nails into his sides and whimpered pathetically as he kept moving further and further inside her; she vaguely wondered that there was even space for him. Loki told her to relax again, but she barely heard him. Finally, after an eternity, Loki ceased his movements, holding himself perfectly still above her and in her. Iantha felt incredibly stretched and strangely full; she frankly couldn’t decide if it was dreadful, or wonderful. She foolishly twisted her hips slightly, in search of slight comfort, but instead the pain intensified and she shrieked at the stabbing sensation.

“Shhh, shhhh. Don’t move pet, stay very still. It will pass,” Loki assured her, cupping her face in his hand, he stroked his thumb across her lips, attempting to sooth her. Iantha nodded her head mutely, but her body was still tense with the intrusion. She focussed on regulating her breathing, counting deep breathes in and out in a method that always centred her mind. It was working well, until Loki decided to press his lips to her pulse point, softly sucking the skin into his mouth. Iantha moaned, and Loki began to suck harder, grazing his teeth against the skin as he bruised it to a dark reddish-purple. He licked it gently, and leant back slightly to survey his work.

“Now everyone will know that you are mine,” he growled, possessively. Loki’s words and actions re-sparked her desire, and Iantha unconsciously rolled her hips against him. She gasped in surprise at the realization that pleasure had indeed, overtaken pain. Loki bared his teeth and raised his hips, pulling almost completely out of her before thrusting back in, hitting a spot inside Iantha that made her eyes roll again.

“Yes…” Loki hissed, pulsing in and out of her in smooth, regulated strokes, making sure to hit that magical spot every time. He groaned when Iantha wrapped her legs around his hips, tilting her pelvis in a way that made  _his_ eyes roll. Iantha raked her nails down Loki’s shoulders; her lower body moving in time with his as if this was what it had been specially created to do. Iantha felt like she was falling and drowning and flying all at once… the black irises of Loki’s eyes like deep snares, pulling her very soul out of her body and into his own. His command was irrelevant now, she couldn’t have looked away if she had wanted to, he had her, mind, body and spirit. The feral grin returned, Loki’s features seeming to blur and distort with the influx of power, and desire, and life.

The pair’s rhythm began to disintegrate, Loki’s thrusts becoming faster and more reckless, but Iantha kept pace, matching his erratic movements. She vaguely recognized her release building once again, Loki was pushing her closer and closer to the stars. Just as Loki’s tempo began to become too much for her mortal body to compete with, his hand slipped between them and pressed against her sweet spot. Immediately, Iantha’s body froze and contracted, her back arched and she screamed her God’s name for all the Nine Realms to hear as she lost her sight for the second time.

“Look at me…look…” Loki’s voice sounded disjointed, as if he was calling to her in the Asgardian Sea. She floated happily, her limbs sated and her mind peaceful as the waves lapped gently at her skin.

When she arrived back on land, Loki’s jaw hung open, his nose flared, and he thrust once…twice more, emptying inside her with a deep moan, burying his head in the crook of her neck as his hips jerked rhythmically, allowing her body to pull the last of him out. He collapsed partially on top of her, and she huffed, feeling as if a stone statue had fallen on her. Their wild breathes echoed loudly in the chamber, each desperately gasping for air. Iantha feared her heart may never cease racing, pounding against her ribcage.

Loki slowly lifted his sweaty body off hers, and he balanced on his forearms once again, admiring the flushed and dishevelled priestess underneath him.

“You are a virgin no more, pet,” he murmured, tracing the outline of her lips. Iantha giggled; a sweet, wonderful sound that bubbled from her mouth like music. She danced her fingertips down the length of his spine, feather light, so soft that he barely felt it.

Loki leant down and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. Iantha gasped quietly, surprised by the gentle motion. Loki stared at her for a moment, before rolling over to lie on his back beside her. After several minutes of taming her breathing, Iantha sat up, wincing slightly as dull aches and pains began to make themselves known. She slid her legs off the side of the bed and reached her feet down to the ground. A split second later, she found herself pinned beneath Loki once again; she blinked in shock, her mouth opening and closing uselessly.

“And where do you think you’re going,  _pet_?” Loki asked, his voice sinister and dangerous, all hints of sweetness vanished in an instant. Iantha struggled to find an answer- surely it was over? The ‘sacrifice’ was complete. Loki chuckled darkly, grinning at her naïveté.

“Oh, pet. The night has only just begun. I have much more planned for you before the dawn comes.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A virgin priestess is 'sacrificed' to Odin in a centuries long Asgardian tradition.  
> Set post 'Thor; the Dark World'.

“ _Until the sun rises…_ ” Loki hummed, stroking Iantha’s slim neck tenderly. “Those were your words, were they not?” he asked silkily, staring fixedly at the young woman immobilized under him.

“Y-yes, my King,” Iantha agreed, too intent on her own survival to point out that they had, in fact, been Loki’s words, forced into her mouth. Loki smiled languidly, moving closer to kiss her intoxicating lips again, half-believing that they contained their own brand of magic, designed especially to ensnare him. His sharp teeth nipped at the pillowy flesh, his tongue carefully licking away the sting, moving and roving against hers. 

By the time Loki drew away, Iantha’s heartbeat was fluttering erratically like a hummingbird’s wings. And yet, as lovely as kisses were, she wished that he would move off her, give her some space to breathe and move. She felt caged, trapped between his arms and beneath his long body. Loki smirked devilishly, rolled over onto his back and pulled Iantha on top of him in a sleek motion, so fast she barely had time to cry out in shock.

“Is this more to your liking, pet?” he enquired, grinning cheekily up at her. Iantha squirmed with embarrassment, feeling horribly exposed as she straddled her god. Loki gripped her hips tightly, pressing and grinding her against his semi-erect cock. Iantha placed her palms on Loki’s hard chest, attempting to balance herself as her pelvis automatically began moving against his, seeking friction.

“Ah yes, you are more eager now,” Loki purred, his eyelids sliding down with desire. His wavy dark hair pooled around his head, spread halo-like across the pillow.

Iantha moaned breathily when her clit rubbed against his hip bone, sending jolts of pleasure through her already-sated nerves.  It had been mere minutes since their last coupling, but she rocked against him with uncurbed enthusiasm.

“You desire more pleasure, little one? I shall gladly give it to you,” he said, laughing softly at her zealous movements. Who would have suspected that a priestess of the Order would so delight in carnality?

“Yes, my King. Please…”

Loki lifted her by her hips, as if she weighed no more than a child’s rag doll, lining her up and sinking her smoothly onto his cock. He hissed in delight at the satiny feel of her tight walls clamping down on him, reacquainting themselves with his girth. Iantha’s short nails dug crimson crescents into his skin, overcome once more by a feeling of fullness.

“Ride me,” he commanded, his voice deep and rasping. Iantha stared down at him, her face wavering with uncertainty. Loki’s hands skilfully manoeuvred her hips, encouraging them to move much as they had before, but occasionally raising them up and allowing her to slide back onto him. “Like so…” he said, his hands ceasing their movements, urging Iantha to engage by herself. Still hesitant, she re-gripped his chest, shakily raising herself up and down, trying to wriggle and grind as well. It was hard work, but Loki certainly seemed to be enjoying it, veins stood out prominently on his throat and forehead as he whispered filthy encouragements, his eyes nearly slits as they peered up at her. Iantha finally established a somewhat refined rhythm, feeling more and more confident in her ability to satisfy a man- her king, no less. His litany of moans and groans was like music to her ears. She was the skilled lutist, and he her soaring instrument.

She yelped loudly, disrupted by a sudden, powerful upward thrust from Loki; her hands slipped with the force of the movement, and she fell forward clumsily. An arm wrapped around her, restricting her against Loki’s torso as he planted his feet on the bed and began thrusting into her in a frenzy.

“Did you think you were in control, pet? Did you enjoy the power?” Loki grunted in her ear, raising his other hand to tether her amber hair, his hips pounding into her rapidly. Iantha wailed, struggling against his vice-like grip.

“Do you see, my pet? Power is no more than an illusion, a trick,” Loki hissed, his voice distorted with potent mania. In their brief time together, Iantha had quickly learned that Loki was changeable as the sea: calm and tranquil in one instant, but raging and savage the next. She did not know what she had done to turn the tide this time, but she  _did_ know that she had to undo it. The tenacity of Loki’s thrusts was too much for her mortal body to bear; the arm anchored across her torso was tight enough to grind her fragile bones to dust.

“M-mm-my Ki-ing, ple-ease pl- you’re –ah- hurting… me!” she pleaded, her hands scrabbling to scratch at his shoulders. When he did not respond or temper his movements, Iantha began to cry as her vision blackened at the corners, expecting Hel’s icy blue-black hands to reach for her at any moment, dragging her down to Helheim, the queendom of corpses. Her vision was snuffed out completely, and sure enough, fearfully cold hands clasped her face, even shaking her to check if she was truly dead before escorting her to the underworld.

“ _Iantha…Iantha…”_  That  _was_  puzzling. As far as the illuminated scriptures told, Hel wasn’t supposed to refer to anyone by their living name; it was part of the dishonourable dead’s punishment to remain nameless and faceless and voiceless for all eternity. “ _Iantha…_ ”

Iantha’s eyes burst open, revelling and glutting on the glorious light and colour before them- the deep gold glow of the candles, the rich forest green of the bed hangings, the sharp snowy face hovering above them. Wide, soft green eyes traced her face, rounded by panic and something akin to regret. Chilly fingertips massaged her temples, stroking back errant hairs from her clammy skin. Her ribcage shuddered and jolted, greedily gasping in the heavy air. Blood charged valiantly around her veins, heating and reawakening her body. She was alive. Hel hadn’t captured her yet.

Tears sprung and pooled in her eyes, slipping down the sides of her face into her hair before she could draw them back. Loki’s brows bowed with concern, and he loosely grasped her throat in his palm, hoping to comfort the crying girl. Iantha flinched as if she had been struck, and she fought against the marbled mass atop her, half-hesitating when it gave way so easily. She fled and cowered at the opposite end of the chamber, clenching a table edge with sweating fists. She couldn’t find the moth swimming in the wax, there was only a light smattering of dull brown ash in the liquid amber to show where it had once been.

Loki slid from his bed, walking slowly towards her and raising his hands in surrender. He had no weapons, not even clothes, but then, Iantha knew the panther had neither and it was nonetheless a lethal creature.

“N-no! Please, pl-please don’t kill me! I don’t want to die!” she begged, her voice hoarse and hysterical, twisted with blind panic and instinctual fear. She cried freely, her slight frame quaking with racking sobs. Her eyes were too obscured by tears to notice Loki’s face twisting into a grimace, as if he had been stabbed in the chest.

Loki raised her by her wrists, pulling her up and out of the unconscious prayer position she had adopted. He enclosed her body with his, matching her curves to his edges. His chin balanced atop her trembling head, fitting it seamlessly into the swan’s arch of his neck.

“You think so little of me? That I would kill a creature such as you?” he whispered to the dim room at large. Iantha hiccupped fitfully, her entire frame tense against him. She cast her mind back to all the stories she had heard of Loki in her lifetime; of his violence and bloodlust in battle, the mass of Midgardian mortals he had slaughtered for an imaginary crown…the father he had murdered for a real one. Of course he would kill a creature like her; he had already done far, far worse over the millennia. Fresh fear gripped at her. She did not want to die; she wanted to be like the Gods, she wanted to live forever.

“We do not live forever, little one. No one does,” Loki said softly, mimicking her earlier movements by ghosting his fingers along her spine. She had forgotten about Frigga, and Odin, as well. So Gods could be killed after all… but if they were lucky, they could withstand the snares of time like no other beings. They had thousands of years to live and love and explore all the worlds of Yggdrasil if they chose. They could be worshipped and adored by so many, experience a thousand lives and a thousand lives worth of dreams and happiness. She would die too soon, a mere fleck in the limitless glittering universe, unmourned and forgotten as swiftly as the seasons changing. She was the last surviving member of her family- there would be no one to remember her when she passed.

“Tell me of your family…”Loki whispered, gently rocking their bodies from side to side, creating a calm swaying motion.

Iantha’s memories of her family were poor, shrouded by the passing of time. She had been only a child, barely up to her mother’s hip, when the raiders had come to the village, slaughtering all but a few of the choicest youngsters, to sell on the black market. Iantha had been one of the lucky ones; a patron of the Sacred Order had admired her long coppery hair and eerily pale grey eyes, and purchased her. The wealthy lord had considered keeping her as a companion for his fifth-born son, but his wife had scorned the thought of her son marrying a common country-girl, and so she was gifted to the Order at the tender age of twelve. She had rarely left the cloisters in thirty-eight years, the world outside was not for her kind.

“I…I d-do not remember them very well, my King…my f-father was a hunter…I had three b-brothers…my mother had silver hair, like m-moonlight…”she sobbed, more upset by her lack of memories than having to speak of her dead family. Loki did not reply immediately, merely continuing to move slowly back and forth.

“And you miss them?” he asked abruptly. He hadn’t wanted to ask, but he was curious. Iantha frowned, perplexed by his question-surely it was obvious that she would miss her family?

“Y-yes, my King. I do miss them.”

“But you do not remember them.” It was more of a question than a statement.

“Memories and emotions are… different, my King. I do not remember them…but I feel alone, nonetheless,” she confessed, her throat constricting will fresh sobs. Her tears were warm where they fell in little droplets upon Loki’s chest.

When she had finally ceased crying, Loki released her. She rubbed furiously at her face, trying to wipe away the evidence of her salty tears. Crying was looked down upon in the Order; Priestesses were supposed to be happy and gay all the time, so fortunate were they to serve their gods.

“Come,” Loki said suddenly. Iantha looked up in confusion, almost as if she had forgotten he was there. His hand extended towards her, palm up. An invitation. She wondered where they were going, where he would take her.

“We are going on an adventure, pet,” he said softly. She had never been on an adventure in her life. She idly wondered if clothes would be necessary wherever they were headed. Loki chuckled throatily.

“Worry not, pet. No one will see you but me.” She hesitated for only a second, before stepping forward and slipping her hands into his. The air around them crackled with magic, and suddenly Iantha felt every particle of her body being sucked, and stretched, and  _pulled_  in all directions. She clenched her eyes shut, gripping Loki tighter; he was her anchor in the storm.

The feeling of disembodiment receded, and Iantha felt crisp mountain air burn in her shocked lungs and sting her bare skin. Soft moss-woven grass tickled her feet. She heard the once-familiar shake and stir of pine trees. She opened her eyes hesitantly, afraid that they would not show her the picture her other senses had created. Her gaze drifted from Loki’s smiling, expectant face to the towering pines, the craggy mountains framing the shimmering sky, the perfect circle of plush grass in which they stood, still holding hands. It was home- her home, a place she had not laid eyes on since she was an infant. Of course, she had not lived in a hollow in the middle of the forest, but she knew, as all displaced people do, that she was  _home_ , in her land, her country, her little piece of the universe.  She had forgotten how beautiful the forest was, how majestic the snowy peaks were, and how brightly the cosmos shone away from the glare of the capital.

 “Can we stay here?” she asked, her face lit with childish hopefulness. Loki nodded, battling a smile.

“For a while,” he responded softly, sitting down and pulling her to lie back against him. He cradled her head against his chest, unfazed by the slight scratch of her hair. His eyes drifted lazily across the cosmos, a canvas so familiar to him that he could have painted every corner of it from memory, if he had the skill. The bright and brilliant colours had ceased to dazzle him centuries before, but still the sight brought a soft sense of contentment to his mind.

The King and the priestess sat silently, each enjoying their surroundings.

The glitter of the stars bewitched Iantha. An image rose unbidden to her mind, of a thousand tiny lights reflected in dark waves, following the choppy path of a longboat covered in flames, as it was rushed off into eternity. A stream of shimmering particles, like miniscule shard of glass, plumed out of the little vessel as it dropped off the edge of the world. Loki’s grip tightened around her. She apologised instantly, feeling guilty for showing him a memory of something that he had been unable to witness, an image of something so painful.

“No, do not apologise. I have only ever seen it fleetingly before. You painted it far more beautifully than anyone else did.” Iantha could hear the deep sorrow restricted in his voice, and regret, she was sure she heard it. She stroked her fingertips along his forearm, in a feeble attempt at comforting him. Perhaps he didn’t want her pity, silly insignificant mortal as she was, perhaps he would lash out at her for pitying him- he was a proud god, after all. But she did it anyway, and he made no move to stop her.

His emotions felt frayed, pulled in too many directions and beginning to splinter. He cast around for something else to focus upon, anything at all. A small silvery orb caught his eye.

“Do you see that, pet?” he whispered, reaching a hand up to the sky. Iantha’s eyes followed to the tip of his long finger.

“What is it, my King?” she asked, her voice equally hushed. It felt as though they were in a sacred temple, a temple of ancient pine trees.

“It is  _Silfrmáni_ , one of the twelve moons of Álfheim.” Iantha pondered why, of all the wonders in the sky he had chosen to single out this tiny, insignificant moon, lying in the shadow of a looming purple planet. Loki laughed quietly, ruffling her hair.

“Yes pet, it is tiny, but by no means insignificant.  _Silfrmáni_  dictates the changing of the Álfheimr seasons, without it, the whole of that world would collapse within a single year.” Iantha did not know what to say in response to such a profound revelation. That something so seemingly unimportant could have such power surprised her.

“It is pretty,” she said suddenly, immediately blushing for saying something so shallow and trivial. Loki laughed again.

“Yes, it is… do you know why?” He edged out from underneath her, turning back to watch her. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion, her own silvery orbs darting up and staring intently at the little moon.

“It is uh…a nice colour, my King. Silver…” Loki simply grinned at her lack of understanding. At the mention of the word ‘silver’, her mind wandered unbidden to an old nickname she had heard attached to Loki more than once.

“And what old nickname would that be?” Loki enquired huskily, trailing the back of his hand gently across her navel. Naturally, he knew exactly which sobriquet she was remembering, but he wanted to hear her say it. Iantha blushed, biting her lip and purposefully avoiding his amused gaze.

“ _Silvertongue_ ,” she whispered, so quietly that a faint breeze or rustle of leaves could have disguised it from keener ears.

“And do you know what that means?” His hand moved from one hipbone to the other, rhythmically sweeping back and forth across the velvety skin of her pelvis. She blushed brighter than the stars.

“It means that you are talented with…speaking, my King,” she said evasively.

“Is that all you think it means, pet?” he asked, chuckling at her embarrassment. Iantha shrugged and shook her head at the same time. “Perhaps I need to give you a demonstration of its  _true_  origin.”

Iantha watched with nervous anticipation as Loki smoothed his palms over her milky, supple flesh, worshipping the gentle swells and arches. He coaxed her thighs apart, taking time to stroke the tender skin on the inside of her legs. She tilted her face up to look at the deep blue sky, only noticing her king dip his dark head from her peripheral vision. She gasped and moaned when he parted her lower lips, sweeping his tongue up and down, side to side in zigzags and letters, writing miniature love notes until she was a panting wreck beneath him. He nibbled and sucked, latching onto her clit and lavishing it with attention, prompting her to slip her desperately grasping hands between his silky locks and tug. Loki groaned against her wet flesh, sending delicious vibrations through her over- sensitised body. He finished her with a skilful thrust and twist of his fingers, moving in tandem with his mouth, continuing his ministrations throughout her glorious convulsions. He revelled in the heady taste of her until she pulled him away, unable to bear his touch any longer.

“ _Silvertongue_. It suits you well, my King,” she murmured, bemused and breathless as he licked lasciviously at the damp patch around his lips and chin. He shrugged with fake modesty and grinned mischievously. It was her favourite smile. He pressed moist kisses from her soft belly up to the hollow at the base of her throat, as he knelt between the V of her legs, positioning himself for the encore. He wrapped a hand around his engorged cock, brushing it along her sex, teasing wordless cries of impatience from her pretty mouth. His hands entwined with hers, sinking them into the soft, mossy earth on either side of her head as he raised his body up and entered her, tantalizingly slow, allowing them both to revel in the bare feel of the other. Loki wanted to savour their last moment together.

Had anyone, perhaps a wayward farmer, happened to come across the hollow in the early hours of that morning, they would scarcely have believed their own eyes as they witnessed two sylphs move and flow so gracefully together, their pale limbs standing out starkly against the deep foreboding dark beneath, around, and above where they lay entangled. All too soon the beautiful picture was at an end, the pair arching and crying out with the culmination of their pleasure, shattering the sacred silence of that private place. And then, they vanished in a hail of green smoke, as if they had never existed there at all. The hollow, its trees and dirt and moss, bore no sign of the lovers’ dance.

When they arrived back in the main chamber, both fully dressed, Iantha realised that she would never tire of the wonders Loki could achieve with his magic.

“Thank you, my King. I thought never to see my home again…thank you,” she said, choked with emotion. The corners of Loki’s mouth lifted slightly, but the smile did not quite reach his brooding eyes. He raised her chin, meeting her halfway and kissing her slowly, tenderly. It took a great deal of willpower to pull away from her soft, pliant lips, her sweet-smelling skin, and her rapidly beating heart.

“This is goodbye, pet,” he said reluctantly, his hand dropping from her face in slow motion. Iantha tilted her head in confusion.

“I’m afraid I cannot have you spreading my little secret, pet,” he explained, purposefully avoiding her gaze. Loki could trust her; Iantha would sooner spill her own blood than spill her knowledge about the king’s true identity.

“I will not speak of it to anyone, my King. I promise you,” she said earnestly. Loki paused, staring at her strangely, confused by the look of…trust on her mortal face. He reached out a snowy hand, unable to resist stroking her soft rosy cheek once more.

“Oh, my pet. I believe you,” he whispered, almost affectionately. Iantha’s timid smile died and was reborn as a shriek, as two invisible hands clamped around her head. Green liquid clouds thrummed through her mind, consuming and warping and concealing. At the end of a very long tunnel, green eyes framed by white skin, framed in turn by black hair, watched her terror. Suddenly, beautiful, brightly-coloured strands of light swirled up the tunnel towards her, engulfing her in a kind of contentedness; not quite happiness, but not the usual pain or sadness, either. A rush of noise, like waves in a storm gurgled and bubbled through and beyond her. She thought she heard familiar voices and sounds, long forgotten; the smell and taste and touch of memories long hidden, now returned. But she could not see. No sooner had panic gripped Iantha than her sight was restored, the rushing sound retreating as her eyes readjusted.

Odin stared at her impassively from his only eye; either he was completely disinterested in whatever had just happened to her, or it had never happened in the first place. It was probably the strong wine creating illusions- she had drunk a great deal during the night as Odin regaled her with dozens of fantastical tales of battles and worlds far away, half of which she could scarcely remember. She did, however, recall seeing the  _Strengr Ellri_ , the Ancient Scroll; that memory was seared into her mind, as clear and crisp and colourful as the day that was beginning to slither beneath the heavy drapes, cutting slices of light onto the inky floor.

The door thudded thrice, and a guard entered to escort her from the palace. It was dawn at last. She was free.

“Thank you, my King. It was an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” she said sincerely, curtseying before him.

“The pleasure was all mine, I assure you,” responded the King, his expression immutable. Iantha smiled and curtseyed prettily once more, withdrawing from the chamber. She glanced at the King one last time before she turned in the doorway. She was surprised to see his face contorted with sadness, so suddenly. She couldn’t understand why her heart clenched as it did, seeing him so. _‘Just sympathy for a grieving man’_ , she reasoned. She was struck by how alone –lonely- he looked.

_‘Even the gods suffer…but they have no one to pray to for help’._

****

Iantha jolted awake in the middle of the night, her skin damp and cold as frost. _“Remember whose you are. This is not the end, my Iantha,”_  repeated the deeply smooth, unfamiliar (and yet, familiar) voice from her dreams, echoing around every vein and nerve in her body.

Something compelled her to get out of her pallet and go to the window. She lurched to her feet, unsteady as a newborn colt, tripping over her sweet-sleeping sisters. She leaned against the sill, tipping her upper body out of the small circle cut from the stone wall. A faint breeze tried to revive her addled senses. At first glance the sky was black as pitch, but as she watched, waves of deep blue and green, even purple became visible in the inky vastness of the universe. Stars swirled over the dark canvas like snow flurries. Hazy planets, great and small, hovered so near, and yet so astonishingly far from where she stood.

Iantha stared, enraptured, wanting to imprint every piece of this awesome vision in her mind. Her eyes alighted on an unremarkable little silver orb, and she was suddenly hit by the knowledge that someone, she knew not who or where or why or how, was gazing at the very same moon… and thinking only of her.

 

_The End._

 


End file.
